


(don't) cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste

by ImNotStubborn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, not a fix it this time oops, title from let me down slowly by alec benjamin because it fits too well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 13:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNotStubborn/pseuds/ImNotStubborn
Summary: Set during The Last Of The Starks.





	(don't) cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste

It hasn't been that long when news of Cersei's latest success over Daenerys' armies reaches the North, but it's been long enough that Brienne knows how to read Jaime's body better than she ever thought she would.

She understands what it means now, when people drinking or eating around them start speaking of the Great War and its losses and she sees his fingers curling repeatedly over themselves like he has to stop them from moving. And she attempts –and fails– to hide her blush each time because she knows that she's not simply projecting, that he truly is stopping himself from reaching out, to her, to make sure she's really here after what they went through that night.

She can see through a good number of his frowns too, some she recognizes from their very first journey together, like the one he tries to conceal every time his right hand cruelly hurts from the place it's missing; some others she's only been able to correctly identify recently, such as the one that settles over his face in a fraction of a second anytime he hears mention of Tormund Giantsbane –and she almost teases him then that he looks quite jealous, too.

She knows without needing to hear the words –that he'll whisper anyway– just how much he wants her; and his lips and hand and maimed arm, that won't leave any place of her body they can respectively reach for more than a few seconds at a time when they're alone, keep erasing the doubts she occasionally still has about it. She obviously doesn't have much to compare it to, but she can't imagine anything better than the time they spend in her bed together, the crashing of bodies so different, yet reminiscent of the crashes of swords and words they've been putting each other through since forever.

She learns to read him in these occasions specifically, and soon can't help but look forward to that moment when his kisses, which always start as heated and hurried as that first drunken one, suddenly go soft, languid. As if it takes him a minute to remind himself that he, that they have all the time in the world, that they don't have to rush through this for fear of being seen or heard. The passion never fades though, but the burning fire everywhere his fingertips touched her morphs into warm lava surrounding her entire being, body and soul alike, the thrashing wave contorting into a calmer but tireless tide she could never fight even if she wanted to, keeping her away from the dullness and safety of shore –from the ground she's always had her feet firmly planted on. And even when they do have less time than they'd like, she can always tell that instant his breathing slows ever so slightly, from dangerously accelerated to perfectly synced with the lustful frequency of her own.

Tonight though, tonight is different.

She first notices the way he avoids looking at her over dinner, and although it's like a knife at her chest that only digs deeper as the wheels start turning in her brain and she can oh so easily figure out what's going on inside his own mind, she puts on a brave face and simply focuses more than she has lately when helping an enthused Podrick figure out how to master that one sparring move he's been having issues with. But as the squire asks more technical questions than even she could think of at his age, the awed look in his eyes is but a stinging reminder that the weight of another, greener, deeper stare is missing on her tonight. And although no one will probably know any different at the table, for the first time in a while, the red that colors her cheeks has more to do with shame and humiliation, than enamored embarrassment.

It hasn't been that long, but it's been long enough that a voice inside suddenly makes itself heard in the mist of negativity, that the boldest part of her feels confident suggesting this doesn't have to be the end of them.

And although it will be anything but easy, for a moment she dares to hope that whatever they have won't be destroyed by Sansa's acerbic declaration, that it simply means they will have to discuss all of it sooner than expected. That this part of them, the one that's been mostly celebrating their own survival and finally exploring an aspect of the bond between them that they'd never dared to before, will have to leave room for something else, something more complicated and frightening still. It's been long enough that right then and there, in Winterfell's banquet hall, she thinks they might make it.

But later, when they're leaving the hall and his shoulder bumps against her arm repeatedly, his body much more closer to hers than they usually are publicly as they try and keep up the pretense both of their high bloods require –although they know they're not fooling anyone–, when his hand grabs at hers almost violently as they reach the corridor leading to her room and he tugs at her arm almost painfully, she knows she was wrong.

When he pushes her against her door and crushes her lips with his the minute they're alone, when he roughly pulls at her clothes and she both hates and loves the heat that immediately pools between her legs, when he growls at her own fingers fighting to get to heated skin and when he doesn't show any sign of slowing down anytime soon, she knows for sure.

This is going to be phenomenal, says the way he bites her neck and nipples much harder than he ever has before, the sharp sensations too low on the list of pains she's had to go through in her life for her to really feel anything but the pleasure lurking just beneath; supported by the ardor with which he pushes her down on the bed and traps his own head between her strong thighs before she has time to catch her breath –and can't for long minutes to come.

This is going to be painful as well, confirms the fact that of course he doesn't hurt her physically, but he takes her with much more force than he ever has before, encouraging her from below with bruising fingers on her hip, and the sounds she makes –that she didn't know could get louder after all the previous nights– contrast sharply with his almost silence. He doesn't look up at her eyes for too long and falter for a minute like he so often did, doesn't whisper any words into the ear he ravishes with his teeth instead. And the ache she feels as she notices every single unusual detail, so different from the physical pain she's used to and surprisingly more powerful, growing as fast and unyielding and dizzying as the ripples of pleasure that rise again and again, is almost too much to take.

This is over for good, announces the sound of him putting his clothes back on, and she pretends to sleep so that she doesn't have to hurt right this moment, so that she still has until morning before his goodbyes shatter the silly hopes and dreams she couldn't stop herself from nurturing these past weeks.

Except she feels a draft and looks up at the door he left ajar like he truly believed she was asleep and, as silent and cold and colder minutes go by, she realizes he simply left.

-

She doesn't know how long she stands in the dark and empty courtyard before she hears footsteps behind her, but when she does, she wishes Podrick wasn't this devoted to his training, wasn't up even earlier than the Northern sun to practice his fighting skills –although she is the one who suggested he train that way.

She finds she doesn't mind so much anymore though when their eyes meet and, without her needing to explain, she finds his full of compassion –and she doesn't want to know which one, her or him, was more transparent earlier.

He offers her his arm in lieu of useless words, and even though she doesn't need the physical help, she leans heavily on it as they get back inside.

It hasn't been that long. Evidently, it's still been long enough for her foolish heart to get broken.


End file.
